


Capturing Something Beautiful

by Arrestzelle



Category: The Evil Within (Video Game)
Genre: Asexual Character, Drunkenness, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Flirting, Gore, M/M, Sexual Photography
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 07:56:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13922745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arrestzelle/pseuds/Arrestzelle
Summary: Following the brutal murder and display of a man, Stefano decides to celebrate his first complete artwork by buying a drink at a bar. There, he meets a man who turns out to be a detective for the crime decision of the KCPD. Somehow, the night becomes even more fun for Stefano.





	Capturing Something Beautiful

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written for The Evil Within in three years, and it's been fun coming back to it. I finished the second game last night, so I was eager to write some Stefano. I don't know what it is about Sebastian and his rivals, but gotDAMN do they always go well together. 
> 
> So this takes place before Sebastian is let go from the force, and before Stefano is noticed by Mobius, when he's being a bad boy and killing people in the real world.

Blood is rich and warm on his face. Trickling down his pale skin, traversing along the lines born from the broad grin spread across his lips. He can taste it. It's pungent with iron. He can smell it, tangy and strong. He can feel it, on his skin. The man laying at his feet is pitiful, nothing, _ugly._ But something ugly can be made beautiful. And this man, he is quite lucky for Stefano to have chosen him. For him to become beautiful in this way—for _this_ form of beauty is eternal.

The cool night air clings to Stefano's sweaty face, contrasting with the warmth of his combined sweat and the hot blood. It emerges in visible clouds of steam as he pants, regaining his breath from the exertion. The winter evening soon cools him down, enough to bite at his cheeks and ears. Maybe next time he'll lure his next art piece somewhere warmer.

Hidden by the darkness of the evening and the lack of streetlights, Stefano manages to drag his work in progress to the treeline lining the empty road. He plans to string his victim up in display, to be found by whomever. But for now, masked by the shadows of the trees, Stefano has to get to work. He has to complete this artwork, after all, before it can be truly appreciated.

 

* * *

 

The same night, Stefano steps out of the shower with a joyful expression on his face. The water spinning into the drain is tinted a pale red; an erasure of the evidence of his night. He runs both hands up over his head, fingers gliding through his long bangs. With a deep exhale, Stefano grabs a towel from the rack by the shower and presses it to his face. He dries his heavily scarred eye gently. With that smile lingering on his face, he then goes through the process of drying himself off, reentering his bedroom, and redressing into a suit fit for a celebratory drink.

 

While tying a scarf around his neck, now fully dressed with his hair styled, Stefano steps out of his bedroom, into the hallway, and soon thereafter into his dark room. There, on a line, hang numerous new shots he took earlier that night. It's been long enough that they've dried by now—he reaches up to take one down.

Gazing at it, a broader grin spreads across his scarred face.

Here it is... The beginning of his portfolio. A man, strung up to the trees by rope wound around his underarms. One of his arms is curled, wrist tied to his neck to keep it in position. The other arm is missing, severed with a sharp tool and buried in the dirt under the man's feet. Balanced in the elbow of his remaining arm is his head, detached from where it once was. In long crimson lines, his vibrant blood had seeped down from the gaping wound of the decapitation, decorating his nude body in endless stripes of red, to drip off his toes.

It's tame in his opinion, but he's only just begun as an artist. There's always room for improvement.

 

* * *

 

The door to the cafe bar squeaks quietly as he pushes it open, to reveal the interior of the establishment. Inside, there is an arrangement of tables, made of fine wood and colored a dark umber. The bar sits to the right of the tables, designed to visually compliment the tables with it's own deep shade of brown, accompanied by stools with white cushions—to match the sharp white of the marble flooring. The bottles of alcohol are arranged in a zigzagging shelf behind the counter, a display Stefano finds aesthetically pleasing. Hourglass shaped lights hang from the ceiling, casting a warm glow throughout the interior.

There is actually quite a crowd this evening. At least, for late at night on a Thursday.

Considering he's here for a drink, Stefano approaches the bar. He doesn't intend to sit and linger; he wants to meander out onto the patio once given his drink.

He takes notice of the four people seated at the bar; two women chatting, a scruffy looking man who is hunched over a bit too far, and an elderly man who is unashamedly staring at the women. Stefano curls a lip and chooses to avoid both the women and the staring man. His bar buddy turns out to be the man who really needs to get a haircut, and possibly a shave. Stefano does his best to keep his distance. He waits for the bartender to approach, and then he proclaims with a broad smile, “To celebrate the occasion of completing one of my art pieces, a simple martini, please!”

Without a word, the bartender turns to make his drink. Stefano reaches up to self-consciously fix his long bangs, while averting his gaze over towards the scruffy man to his left. He's looking at him. His eyes are bloodshot and heavy with exhaustion, though despite that, Stefano is charmed by the color of them. They're almost brown, but Stefano can see the warm gold in them. Doesn't hurt he's quite handsome, too.

“You have beautiful eyes,” Stefano comments with a smile, “If it wouldn't be so rude and you weren't so... Disheveled at the moment, I would ask for a photograph.”

Following a startled blink, the other man makes a slight confused face. He straightens up a bit and then clears his throat to say roughly, in a slur, “Uh... Thanks? Your eyes are pretty damn blue. I, uh... I could say the same.”

Stefano grins.

“You could,” he agrees. The other man stares at him for a moment longer, searching his face, and then turns back to his whiskey. Stefano watches him take a sluggish drink, wondering why he's even here, if he looks like he would rather be anywhere else. Staring at him, Stefano notices the scar on his lips. He's curious to hear how he got it. An intrusive thought to reopen it and create something larger and more profound prods at him. He can't help but be drawn towards interesting people. He looks away when the bartender places his martini before him. Stefano thanks him with a smile and a dip of his head before curling gloves fingers around the base of the glass.

“You're an artist?” Stefano hears the other man ask, voice gruff and heavy with intoxication. Stefano glances at him and sees those golden eyes peering at him from under a messy fringe. Stefano grins broadly, exposing teeth and dimples.

“I am,” Stefano confirms, pleased that he cares, turning to face him with his elbow set upon the bar countertop, “I enjoy exploring the anatomy of the human body in my works.”

“Sculpting?” the other man presumes with an arched brow. Stefano chuckles and nods.

“Yes. As well as photography.”

“Huh,” the man responds, and then falls silent again. He downs the rest of his whiskey. Stefano's grin fades. He watches him silently, blue eye narrowed, as he takes a drink from his martini. The gin clutches at his palate—it's refreshing. Stefano sets the glass down on the bar and contemplates what to say. Now that this man has grasped his interest, he's not so quick to depart to the patio. Maybe he could start with the basic introduction.

“My name is Stefano,” he says with a gloved hand placed to his chest, over his ascot scarf, earning a lackluster glance from a golden eye. Stefano gives him a polite smile. The other man eyes him up and down and says in a slur, “Sounds like a European name. Given your accent and sense of fashion, I'm led to believe you're not from around here.”

Stefano arches a brow.

“What you believe is true,” he muses—he's unsure whether he should be offended or amused. The other man rubs his lips together, staring at him, and then says, “Italian?”

“Now, that wasn't hard to guess,” Stefano remarks with a tilt of his head and a smile, “Stefano is known to be Italian.”

“And your Italian accent is known to be Italian,” the other man says. That has Stefano grinning.

“Indeed. Regardless, do you plan on giving me your name, or shall you remain nameless?”

That earns him a distrustful stare, a frown, and then a sigh.

“It's Sebastian.”

“Ah, Greek,” Stefano replies with a smile, “But I can tell _you_ aren't.”

“Nope,” Sebastian remarks, and then pushes his empty glass towards the bartender when the bartender approaches to tend to him. He glances up towards him and says, “Another, thanks.”

“Have you been here long?” Stefano asks, “A bit lonely to spend the night at a bar with no company, hm?”

“I'm not alone,” Sebastian says, and then when the fresh glass of whiskey is firmly planted in front of him, he clutches it in hand and raises it sarcastically with a glance towards Stefano. Stefano huffs a laugh.

“Alcohol is merely fuel for fun or used as distraction, not a friend,” he says. Sebastian grunts mid-drunk and then sets down the whiskey glass before replying with a tired, “Distraction is good enough for me.”

Unsure of what to say to that, Stefano simply watches him. Sebastian has a habit of staring off into space, he's noticed. His lips are red and wet from drinking, his eyes unfocused and glassy. His cheeks, jaw, and neck are covered with a developing beard, and his bangs are long enough to get in his eyes. Lines of exhaustion are etched into his face. He's wearing a navy blue shirt, long sleeves, with an open collar. Staring at him, Stefano can't help but wonder how far he's come to get here. He seems like a man beaten down by the never-ending blizzard known as life. What has he faced, who and what has he lost, to end up here—alone, drinking away his memories?

Or rather, not alone. Stefano is here, speaking with him. It has him realizing that now, he has inserted himself into his life. Somehow, that satisfies him. Stefano now holds a place in Sebastian's life, in his memory. That's beautiful to him. In the back of his thoughts, Stefano decides he wants to deepen his mark on his life.

“What do you do, Sebastian? To fill up the hours of the day?” he asks, eager to keep the conversation rolling.

Sebastian fixes his gaze on him and looks him up and down again—seemingly surprised he's insistent on speaking with him. Stefano takes a drink of his martini to mask his enthusiasm. Sebastian clears his throat and answers gruffly, “I work with the KCPD. Detective for the crime division.”

That has Stefano pausing, martini glass to his lips. He stares at Sebastian with faint alarm in his blue eye. Setting down his martini again, Stefano smiles, amused.

“So you deal with... What? All levels of crime? Homicide as well?”

Sebastian shrugs. He provides no other answer than that. Stefano nearly laughs. How intriguing. Here he is, speaking with the man, or perhaps one of the men, who will be put on a case to identify him. Something vicious and equally mischievous twists in Stefano's chest. He wants to toy with this man. Beyond just strengthening the memory of him in Sebastian, he wants to take more than just that.

The setting of a bar is suddenly so suitable.

Stefano possesses only two kinds of lust: for the exploration of art, and for complete control. But aside from lust, he does have curiosity. In this instance, the curiosity makes up for his lack of lust for sex. Glancing down to his hands, Stefano notices the ring, and deflates slightly. But then he regains his resolve, upon coming to the conclusion that a man drinking this heavily and at this late hour with a lack of a wife is a sign that the ring is simply just that: a ring.

“Tell me,” Stefano muses, “If I were to ask for your picture, to capture the gold in your irises, would you let me?”

Sebastian looks at him with a furrowed brow. Stefano can only hope he has interests beyond a woman. If not, if he doesn't accept his proposal willingly, Stefano might have to linger and wait for him to take his leave, if only to follow him home.

“I guess,” Sebastian mutters with a shrug, peering at him with vague discomfort in his eyes, “I've done weirder things than let a stranger take my picture.”

“Is that so?” Stefano replies with a shark-like grin, “Like what?”

“A lot of gruesome shit you wouldn't want to hear about,” Sebastian remarks with a tired roll of his eyes as he brings his whiskey to his lips. Stefano's grin softens. He searches his face and finds no hint of sarcasm. Considering he works for the KCPD, Stefano is interested in hearing about these things. But he shouldn't place a red flag on himself for expressing enthusiasm in that gruesomeness. Instead, he just laughs and says, “Well, in comparison to your 'gruesome shit', I imagine photography is much more harmless.”

Saying nothing, Sebastian downs the rest of his alcohol, sets the glass down, and then points a finger at the other man—he's noticeably very drunk. He's barely able to stay seated on his stool, and his blinking is incredibly slow. Sebastian manages a lopsided smirk, his golden eyes glassy and bloodshot.

“Well, Mr. Artist, take my picture. Where's the camera?”

Stefano smiles at him. With a gloved hand, he takes his martini glass, drinks the remainder, and then says, “At my apartment. Let me drive you home after. You don't seem like you're quite ready to drive yourself anywhere, Mr. Detective.”

 

* * *

 

Excitement boils inside of Stefano as he leads an intoxicated Sebastian into the lobby of the lavish apartment building, centered in a busy part of the city. A couple passing people and the receptionist watch warily, though a smile and a nod from Stefano lessen concern. Stefano leads the staggering man towards the elevators.

Eventually, they make it to Stefano's apartment. Stefano is concerned about Sebastian decorating his nice carpet with the contents of his stomach, though the concern is almost unnoticeable, when compared to his anticipation.

He lets Sebastian stand at the bar of his kitchen, hands placed atop the counter to stabilize himself. As he pours him a glass of water, Stefano watches him, noticing how much he's swaying on his feet, with his eyes roaming and blinking slowly. Stefano holds out the water for him. Sebastian notices it dazedly and reaches out to take it. He is slow and careful to raise it to his lips.

With closed eyes, Sebastian takes a few big gulps, consuming the entirety of it, and then sets it down heavily with a noisy clink of glass against marble.

“Now, let's get you seated, Sebastian,” Stefano speaks up, earning a weak glance from glassy eyes. Sebastian nods. Stefano rounds the counter and reaches out to gently curl a hand around Sebastian's forearm. Surprising Stefano, Sebastian raises his hand and clutches at his shoulder.

“Shit,” Sebastian slurs, “I can barely walk. Sorry.”

Stefano smiles thinly and gazes at him with amusement, his blue eye lidded.

“It's alright.”

He leads Sebastian down the hallway, towards his bedroom. Sebastian is leaning heavily into him—Stefano can smell the stench of alcohol, of his sweat, shadowed by the faint aroma of cologne. Stefano smiles to himself as he pushes open the bedroom door and then urges the other man inside. Stefano guides him to the bed, and then lets Sebastian take a heavy seat on the foot of it.

“Now,” Stefano begins, as he approaches his camera bag placed on the top of his dresser. Unzipping it, he reaches in to grab his camera. He turns to Sebastian as he adjusts the zoom and continues with a smile, “Once I take your picture, I want to satisfy my curiosity.”

This version of Sebastian is considerably more vulnerable and incoherent; his body must have digested the alcohol completely by now. He blinks heavily and looks at Stefano with a slight grimace, his eyes squinting and lips pressed together. He appears like he's straining to keep himself raised and awake.

“Curiosity?” he asks, slurred. Stefano grins widely and brings the camera to his face, to peer through the lens. Sebastian's confused, disoriented expression amuses him. Seeing him so vulnerable is pleasing. Stefano takes a shot with an audible click of the camera, which has Sebastian huffing and slurring, “Hey, you didn't warn me.”

“Curiosity to see your body. I did tell you my art is inspired by human anatomy,” Stefano answers, neglecting his complaint. Sebastian blinks, his head recoiling slightly in surprise. He squints and mutters, “Uh. Okay.”

“You must have realized that's my true intention,” Stefano goes on as he paces closer, his icy blue eye wide and trained down on Sebastian's vaguely grimacing face. Sebastian's apparent confusion weakens to nothing. He nods a little, his motions slow and lethargic.

“Yeah, I guess. I dunno.”

“So you _are_ interested in men, even a little, if you were willing?”

“I guess,” Sebastian remarks, dismissively, with a lackluster shrug. Stefano huffs.

“Come, now. Surely you have an idea.”

“Labels don't mean anything to me,” Sebastian answers, staring up at him with a sudden clarity in his golden eyes, “If a guy is handsome or pretty, then he's handsome or pretty. Doesn't matter what he's got between his legs. It's all the same.”

Stefano pauses, and then smiles faintly. He nods. Stefano steps closer. He situates himself so he's standing between Sebastian's knees. Sebastian looks up at him with redness in his cheeks, his eyes hardening with what seems to be wary desire.

“So what am I? Handsome, or pretty?” Stefano asks softly, a grin toying at his lips. Sebastian looks at him unwaveringly, with his jaw clenching. He speaks lowly, in a _gruff_ murmur that is pleasant to Stefano's ears.

“Both.”

Stefano chuckles and nods again. He then moves to kneel with an audible shift of clothing. Sebastian tenses up in front of him, his legs drawing further apart to give the other man more room. With the camera raised to his face, Stefano trains it up on Sebastian's, and takes a quick shot to preserve the look of surprise in Sebastian's eyes. Then it becomes faint embarrassment. Sebastian frowns and says, “Look, I thought the whole point was getting my eyes, not my face.”

“The beauty has expanded from just your eyes,” Stefano remarks, which has Sebastian dryly laughing. Stefano takes a picture of his amused expression, too, while it lasts. Then it's replaced with an exhausted look. Speaking quietly, voice hushed and intimate, Stefano then says, “Alright, look at me. I do want a clear shot of your irises, Sebastian.”

Sebastian blinks, and obliges. He gazes at the camera, at Stefano kneeling between his legs, still dressed in his rich blue suit—he hadn't even removed his dress shoes or scarf yet. The deep red hue of his gloves are charming when in contrast with the black color of his camera. Stefano takes three shots, with brief pauses in-between.

Silently, Stefano rises again to stand between his knees. Sebastian watches him wordlessly. Stefano gestures to him with a gloved finger, saying lowly with command, “Now, I want to see your body. Show it to me.”

He notices the way Sebastian swallows hard. Raising the camera to his eye again, Stefano watches intently as he gathers the bottom of his dark blue shirt in his hands and draws it up over his head. Stefano takes a series of quick shots as he pulls it off of himself, with further dishevelment of his long locks. It reveals tan, scarred skin, as well as dark body hair that decorates his chest and belly. His stomach is soft, but his chest is shapely with muscle. It's charming. Stefano silently takes multiple pictures.

Sebastian is seemingly shy, but he's not reluctant. Stefano takes three steps back and watches through the lens as Sebastian rises, unsteadily. He staggers a bit, and Stefano considers helping him with the rest. But Sebastian manages to step out of his jeans, leaving him in only his briefs. Stefano takes a couple shots, to document the process. When Sebastian takes a heavy seat again, Stefano clicks his tongue and says, _“Sebastian,_ let me see. Don't hide anything from me.”

The vulnerable look in Sebastian's eyes when he glances up towards him past his messy bangs has Stefano sucking in a breath and taking a picture, before he hides it with a bashful turn of his head. Sebastian presses his lips together, contemplating, and then begins to draw down his briefs, with an clumsy lift of his hips. Stefano is impressed he managed to get them off with little difficulty, considering how drunk he is right now.

Sebastian sits with his knees placed boldly apart, his hands resting limply on his thighs, one placed further in-between them than the other—his wedding band glints in the light. Stefano's heart is racing; he's never once had a live subject like this before. Seeing a man in such a vulnerable position, willing to be subjected to his photography, excites him. It's not quite the same as taking pictures of a completed art piece, though it is similar.

“You are magnificent,” Stefano breathes as he takes a series of pictures; he alternates between different angles and perspectives, through sidesteps, kneeling, and stepping closer. He captures his expressions that flicker between confident, stony, and then unsure. He takes shots of his nude body in different perspectives. He likes seeing the swell of his muscle, or the softness of his body fat, in various places, in different angles. Sebastian soon becomes shy—Stefano notices by the developing look of discomfort on his face. Stefano then decides that is enough. He switches off the camera, turns away, and approaches his dresser. He sets the camera back in his bag, zips it up, and then calmly removes his gloves. He places them together atop the surface of his dresser, and then unravels his scarf, which joins his gloves.

He toes off his dress shoes, and then turns back to Sebastian, who watches silently with an unreadable expression. His hands are planted back against the bed, presumably for stability. Stefano paces up to him and without hesitation, he smoothly crawls up onto him to straddle his thighs, his legs folded. Sebastian looks at him with widened eyes. Smiling thinly, Stefano cups his cheeks in his hands, feeling the scratch of his beard. He searches in his eyes, charmed by the muted gold in them.

“Thank you for indulging me,” Stefano whispers, and then momentarily pauses to search Sebastian's handsome face, before he angles his head and kisses him. Sebastian tenses up under him, though soon after, Stefano feels two broad hands cup around his thighs. The tension clutching at Sebastian's body dissipates, replaced by a willingness. Stefano slides his hands up from his cheeks, to cradle the back of his head, fingers in his dark locks.

Considering his inebriation, Sebastian's kissing is sloppy and uncoordinated. Stefano tries to salvage the kiss by matching Sebastian's pace. Their lips move together in a firm overlapping punctuated by Stefano dipping his tongue into Sebastian's mouth to taste the alcohol lingering on his palate. Sebastian grunts and slides his hands further up on Stefano's thighs, squeezing firmly.

When breathless, Stefano pulls back to search his face. Sebastian's eyes are lidded and dazed, his cheeks flushed and lips wet. He looks good enough to eat. Stefano feels no arousal, though he is excited to do more to this man.

“Will you allow me the privilege of making you feel good, Sebastian?” Stefano murmurs, his blue eye lidded and searching in the other man's. Sebastian presses his lips together. He lets out a shaky exhale and nods. Stefano smiles, pleased, and then says lowly, “Good. Lay back on the pillows, darling.”

Sebastian grimaces slightly at the pet name, which Stefano notices. He nearly grins, though he manages to repress it. Then he moves off of Sebastian, rising from the bed. He begins unbuttoning his blazer. As Sebastian shifts back to lean against the headboard, Stefano hangs his blazer. Then, once he removes the button-up shirt underneath, baring his slender, pale torso, he sets that in his laundry hamper. Left only in his slacks, Stefano turns back towards the bed and climbs on.

A smile remains on his handsome face as he crawls up to Sebastian, who watches with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. He looks so cornered, and Stefano is enjoying every _moment_ of it. He strokes his hands up over Sebastian's shins, across warm skin and body hair. Sebastian shudders and melts against the pillows, just slightly. Stefano cups his confident hands under Sebastian's knees as he shifts closer, and then strokes them down along the swell of his calves.

“You are beautiful,” Stefano murmurs, sweeping his gaze across his body as he gently runs his hands up along Sebastian's clenched thighs with admiration, “A perfect example of a man. You don't deserve to be alone, like you had been. I am glad I found you.”

Stefano wants to carve into him. He wants to take his knife from it's spot in his desk and shape Sebastian into something exquisite and carnal. He wants to show Sebastian what _sex_ truly is to _him._

With a shuddering inhale, Stefano leans in over the other man. Angling his head, he begins kissing his neck, over the prominent lines of his collarbone, down to his chest, his hands cupping Sebastian's sides. Sebastian is tense under him.

“I—Shit. I don't—I haven't been with a man before,” Sebastian suddenly says in a slur, as Stefano kisses over his skin, “I don't know how to act, or what to do.”

“Don't think,” Stefano murmurs, looking up at him past his long bangs, “I just want you to feel my lips. Think about what I'm doing to you. You don't have to worry about anything. You don't have to worry about me, because tonight, it is all about you.”

“Wait, what?” Sebastian stammers, surprised, “You don't want me to do anything for you?”

“No,” Stefano answers, and leaves it at that, to shift himself down and kiss over his hairy belly. Sebastian sucks in a breath. He's become pliant under his hands and under his mouth—surely, the drinks in his system helped.

Stefano enjoys kissing his warm skin. He continues kissing over his belly, across his hips, and down his thighs. Sebastian is scarred in places: some scars are on his sides, some on his thighs, and a couple on his chest. Stefano finds himself in love with his body. He wants to do so much more to it, but all he can do for now is kiss his skin, and take his half-hard cock into his mouth. When he does, Sebastian's thighs and belly clench.

It's been a long, very long time since Stefano last did this. And he had done it only a handful of times in the past, so he is not _too_ familiar with the act of doing so. But he is confident, and Sebastian is drunk—he imagines technique won't matter here.

Admittedly, Stefano is surprised he is able to become hard at all. It takes only a moment of sucking him off, and then Sebastian is more or less completely erect in his mouth. When satisfied, Stefano draws off slowly with sucked in cheeks, drawing out a grunt from Sebastian, and then replaces his mouth with his hand. With a lidded eye, Stefano admires his flushed cock, slick in his grasp. He's not necessarily _big,_ but he is far from small. His cock is beautiful like the rest of him. He's noticeably uncut—Stefano has some fun watching the foreskin repeatedly close around the head with each upstroke of his hand.

For only a moment, Stefano considers letting Sebastian fuck him. Stefano has never bottomed before; he's only topped. But with Sebastian, he would be interested in trying it. The thought of Sebastian being inside of him excites him. For now though, this is fine.

A hand reaching out to brush aside his long bangs has Stefano freezing. Flicking his gaze up, he stares at the other man to see the look of faint surprise on his face. With his disfigured eye exposed to Sebastian's gaze, Stefano's fun diminishes to discomfort. Frowning, he turns his head out of the touch, his long bangs slipping from Sebastian's fingers to lay over his face again. Sebastian says nothing. Stefano lowers his head to take his hard cock into his mouth, his eye closing and hand venturing up to rest over his belly. Gripping the base of his cock, Stefano draws back his foreskin with a pull of his hand and begins to suck.

“Oh, fuck,” Sebastian grunts, voice sluggish and heavy with both pleasure and drunkenness. Stefano begins moving his mouth, his locks brushing against Sebastian's thigh and belly with each lowering of his head. Stefano can feel his legs clench against his sides, his belly tightening under his hand. Sebastian moans and grunts as Stefano continues his ministrations; hearing those noises please Stefano, knowing he is making him feel _good._ He peeks up at Sebastian's face past his bangs, while he pauses to nurse at the head of his cock. Sebastian's face is twisted up in pleasure, his eyes narrowed and trained down on him.

Stefano licks at the slit and tastes pre-come. It's pungent in taste and encourages Stefano to continue; he ducks his head back down to take him into his mouth again, his eye closing and cheeks sucked in. Sebastian moans again. His body winds up increasingly with tension, and at one point he reaches out to clutch a handful of Stefano's hair. He thrusts his hips up a few times, startling Stefano—it has the head of his cock shoving into his throat. Stefano chokes, and then swallows hard a few times to accommodate it. Sebastian grunts and starts shaking uncontrollably underneath him. He lets go of his hair when Stefano begins raising his head.

Replacing his mouth with his hand, Stefano watches Sebastian's flushed face as he begins tugging at his slick cock. Panting with reddened cheeks and wet lips, Stefano looks debauched himself, his blue eye sharp with lust, trained on the other man intently. Sebastian has his head tipped back into the pillows, his hands in fists atop the covers. Following a few jerks of his hips, Sebastian comes with a loud grunt ripping out from his throat, from between clenched teeth. Stefano watches, a broad smile on his face, as his ropes of cum shoot out to land across his hairy belly and heaving chest. Amazed, Stefano feels his shaft throb in his hand. The remainder of his semen slides down over his fingers.

“Good,” Stefano purrs with a glint in his eye as he continues stroking at his cock, “Good, let it all out, Sebastian.”

“Fffuck,” Sebastian breathes, slurred. Subconsciously, his hips arch up into Stefano's touch as the Italian continues pulling at his cock, easing out the last few droplets of his glistening cum. Panting heavily, he then slumps back into the pillows, his hand sluggishly raising to rub at his face. Stefano lets his spent cock go and then rises from the bed, earning a tired glance from the other man. After cleaning off his hands with a towel grabbed from his laundry hamper, Stefano approaches his dresser and retrieves his camera from the bag.

“Stefano,” Sebastian begins roughly, moving to prop up on an elbow, albeit with some difficulty considering the additional weight that's bearing down on him following his orgasm. Stefano hums lowly as he steps up to the foot of the bed, switching the camera on.

“Don't move,” Stefano murmurs. Sebastian doesn't say anything, he only looks up at the other man with an embarrassed expression. Stefano raises the camera to his eye.

With a smile on his handsome face, Stefano admires the sight of Sebastian laying on his bed, debauched with his semen decorating his front. His hair is rather messy, his bangs clinging to the sides of his forehead with sweat. His cheeks are flushed. A slight grimace is on his face, though rather than with discomfort, it is out of embarrassment. It's cute. Stefano's smile extends to a grin as he takes a picture, the clicking of the shutter filling the sudden silence of his bedroom.

**Author's Note:**

> arrestzelle.tumblr.com


End file.
